


Fear & Blood

by Saylo



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And everything else bad, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Forced Pregnancy, Game of Thrones Spoilers, Guns, House Baratheon, House Lannister, House Martell, House Stark, Implied/Referenced Incest, Post-Apocalypse, Robb Stark is King in the North, Smut, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2020-02-10 13:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18661063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylo/pseuds/Saylo
Summary: Westeros is on the mend after the Mad King nearly destroys all of humanity's way of life through Wildfire. Years after his death mankind has gone rogue, and every House has gone feral on a historic mission, hellbent to claim the title as Ruler of the Seven Wastes. (Mad Max Fury Road AU)





	1. Prologue

_The king is dead, and the lone wolf lost his head. The stag rides on with the pride of lions._

_The wolf keeps a respectful distance while he waits for another member of the pack to join him_

_He evaluates the odds and assesses the terrain_

_He is spurred on by hunger, a thirst to taste blood in his mouth._

_The pack needs to eat, but it will be worth the wait._

_They will tear them all apart._

 

Know who you swear fealty to:

 

 **[THE STARKS of WINTERFELL](https://www.pinterest.com/letrashprince/got-fear-blood/house-stark-warriors-of-steel/)** – Warriors of Steel; famous architects and metalworkers who sell steel and autoparts for weapons. Notorious for having advanced looking war rigs/old cars. They know the wasteland terrain fairly well, especially in the North.

 

 **[THE BARATHEONS of STORM'S END](https://www.pinterest.com/letrashprince/got-fear-blood/house-baratheon-shock-jockeys/)** — Shock Jockeys; masters of lightning and collectors rainwater; Created a power-plant powered by the storms that surge through the Stormlands. Famous manufacturers of Liquid Lightning and Hi-Lite Overdrive (supercharged energy drink containing Liquid Lightning; can also be used to power things).

 

 **[THE LANNISTERS of CASTERLY ROCK](https://www.pinterest.com/letrashprince/got-fear-blood/house-lannister-water-moguls/)** – Water Moguls; Still the richest House in the seven kingdoms. Once it was due to the many gold mines under their control. Now, it is from digging deep within the earth to pull up fresh water. Outside the keep is a desert wasteland that only grows worse and worse the further out you go. Inside the castle walls is a plush oasis full of green and life.

 

 **[THE GREYJOYS of PYKE](https://www.pinterest.com/letrashprince/got-fear-blood/house-greyjoy-salt-miners/)**  – Salt Miners and Fishermen; Their rock salt is used for various things (from preserving food to healing ingredients to crafting weaponry). Their sea produce is some of the most-prized in the North as well.

 

 **[THE MARTELLS of SUNSPEAR](https://www.pinterest.com/letrashprince/got-fear-blood/house-martell-crop-kings/)** – Crop Kings; Untouched by the Mad King's wildfires given their location. Despite being surrounded by desert, Dorne is rife with a limited variety of vegetation. The Martells are sellers of spices, fruits, oils, and wine grown from the capitol's own secret oasis known as "The Water Gardens".

 

 **[THE TYRELLS of HIGHGARDEN](https://www.pinterest.com/letrashprince/got-fear-blood/house-tyrell-hi-grade-harvesters/)** – Hi-Harvesters; sellers of chrome and vegetation. Theirs is the only area still remotely able to grow food due to lesser damage from the Mad King's wildfire. There's traces of earth that are still sour, but overall the food is still edible and valued throughout the seven kingdoms.

 

 **[THE TARGARYENS of DRAGONSTONE](https://www.pinterest.com/letrashprince/got-fear-blood/house-targaryen-oilhorsepower-lords/)** – Oil/Horsepower Lords; Former weapons forgers, oil diggers, and gasoline providers. Now almost all are dead after the Mad King spread wild fire and dragon fire throughout the kingdoms.

 

 **[THE DOTHRAKI of ESSOS](https://www.pinterest.com/letrashprince/got-fear-blood/house-targaryen-oilhorsepower-lords/)**  – Horsepower Lords and Raging Ferals. Riders that are experts in surviving in the wastelands. Fear crossing the Sea of Salt and Bone because of how far it stretches. The Dotrhaki fear their horses (elaborate rigs made from scrap metal foraged in the desert) will not survive the trip across.


	2. The Wastelands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the North. Welcome to the Wastelands.

Some have said that the known world would end in fire. Others say Ice. The wisest say that the known world would end in both.

And it did.

First, there was fire.

In a fit of madness and rage, The Mad King Aerys II promised to dance on the embers as he sentenced the world to burn. Wildfire spread across the seven kingdoms like a disease, turning the known world hot, and almost completely desolate. Nothing in it could grow. The earth had turned sour, anything that tried to thrive in it would burn. The air was poisoned. Human life was deemed fragile, and painfully short.

When he was finally slain by his own kingsguard, the fires began to die out.

And the known world was given a second chance.

Certain parts of the world began to heal, and the people in it were able to thrive.

And with that, so did the thirst for power, and control of the resources.

All seven Kingdoms were almost destroyed during the Mad King's reign. They had survived, yes, but they had grown back strong in a gnarled, disfigured way—like a tree trying to thrive in the desert. A chance at a new order was clear. The demand for one king versus the demand for several were clear as well. This war was no longer about survival, this war was about the seven trees that had thrived in the wastelands, and who among the houses would wield the biggest axe....

And after winning latest war on Guzzoline against the Lannisters, it appeared to everyone that Robb Stark had the tightest grip on the handle.

How he hated the Lannisters. Water Moguls turned Guzzoline Lords who were rich before the End, and now after. They found their fortune in the oil that Tywin Lannister had the brains to dig deep for beneath his keep. Now he and those who served him were some of the richest in Westeros. They all donned red leather and steel buckles and armor painted gold. Buckles and armor made from the steel that his family, his people provided. They had the nerve to wear Winterfell steel after what they did to his house. To his own father...

He wasn't given much time to marvel at the desert wasteland before him. Flares were suddenly launched in the sky, exploding 3 vivid colors.

2 red and 1 blue.

The very sight brought a smile to his face. Knowing what it meant only made it grow more. He whistled sharply and pulled out his own flare gun, firing a single shot in the sky before taking a seat in the shiny steel rig parked right beside him. Grey Wind it was called. It was his father's rig, blessed with a v8 engine and a new paint job after the previous one had worn down from sand and weather. The thrusters were loud like a wolf's growl, and the tires had valyrian chains wrapped on and spikes on the hub caps. He turned on the ignition and listened to the engine roll and rumble, the sound echoing over the sand as he hit the gas and began speeding off towards the flares.

* * *

 

Venturing so far out into the Wastelands meant you wanted to die. It was No-Man's Land, the moral middle ground where there was no law, and no Gods.

But there were resources, if you knew where to go.

Up in the red clay mountains there were caves. And in those caves were Half-Life Andals—people who lived through the Wildfires of Mad King Aerys. They were creatures, malformed and gnarled in skin and poisoned in bone. They spent their lives in darkness. Spending years in these caves had given them time to build and mine through the earth for whatever treasures these places kept hidden. What they found were precious stones and high traces of dragon glass. All of which were used to trade for drinkable water and usable steel.

A man from Winterfell had come to these caves—willing to trade some good steel for some fine gems. He was a decent sized man, clad in layers of pale and dark grey that were worn and beaten from the sun and dust. A dark grey scarf was draped around his neck and covered his head, doing very little to hide the curls of his black hair underneath. One of the Half-Lives recognized him instantly and hissed.

 _“Bastard,”_ The half-life seethed, pointing a gnarled stub in his direction. _“A bastard from the North has come! State your purpose, bastard.”_

The man pulled the hood from his head and looked around. More Half-Lives crawled out from every crack and crevice hidden in the dark, watching with their enormous eyes so bright, they almost glowed. The man from the North stood firm.

“My name is Jon Snow,” He spoke out. “And I came here to get what was promised to me.”

One of the Half-Lives chuckled, his voice a song as he sneered with blackened teeth. _“Only if you will give what was promised to us_ first, _Jon Snow.”_

A low rumble of rough chuckles echoed throughout the cave. The creatures were amused. Jon was not. He simply set down the large bag he had strapped onto his back and kicked it forward.

“Northern steel,” He said as he pointed down to the bag, “Easy to weld, and tough to destroy. A gift from King Robb.”

Another wave of amused chuckle from the creatures in the dark. Jon was starting to grow frustrated.

 _“King,”_ they all hissed in a song, _“King, king, king...”_

 _“There are no Kings here, bastard,”_ A half-life sung in his ear. The young man didn't move a muscle. He just looked straight ahead, tight-lipped as the creature smirked and continued to speak, _“What king would want to rule a land of waste and rot? Why would a king want to build on a graveyard of bones and corpses?”_

He could hear them sniffing, licking their diseased lips as they inched closer and closer to him. The boy's dark grey eyes flicked to the right, his face eerily calm yet menacing.

“Are you going to give me what was promised or not?” He asked lowly, watching as the creature smirked and whistled sharply. Two more half-lives came hobbling in with a satchel and laid it at the Northman's feet. They opened it up to reveal a whole pile of shimmering, jagged stones as black as night.

 _“3 pounds of dragonglass, as promised,”_ A half-life creature with only one eye sung. The other two scurried over and dragged Jon's bag away into the dark, mumbling in their garbled chatter as Jon took the dragonglass and gave a little nod out of respect. He turned away and headed towards the exit, picking up the pace as a shrill scream suddenly rang through the cave.

There were two reasons why these creatures were called half-lives. One was for the life-spans they were cursed with after surviving the Wildfires. The second was for their method of deal-making, if one could call it that. Deal with a half-life, and your own life is taken shortly after the deal was made. Food was scarce up in the red clay mountains, so when man comes along to strike a deal, there was no chance that they could let a meal just walk out, never to be seen again. It was all a game of chance, really. If you couldn't escape, you would feed the creature’s bellies. But if you could escape, you would escape rich.

And so far, Jon Snow has been winning the game of chance for weeks.

Half-Life Warriors came trudging out of the cave wrapped in heavy, black cloth. The only thing being visible was their large, steel goggles that kept the sun from searing out their eyes. They came carrying heavy guns that spewed out dragonfire— giant flames of red and black that melted the rock and sand. They let out a gutteral cry as Jon bolted for his life down the hill, fumbling to pull out his flare gun and point it up to the sky. He shot off three rounds before making a dive over a sand dune. The flames almost hit his heels. He could hear the warriors screeching and gargling at each other.

 _“Meat!!”_ They cried out, _“Kill the bastard! Get the meat!!”_

Jon crawled on his belly across the sand, keeping his body low against the dunes. He looked over to the horizon, his eyes widening with his smile. He could see something coming. Something shiny in the blazing sun, the familiar roar of a V8 engine on the wind. His brother Robb was speeding right towards him in a shining vehicle, kicking up a storm of sand and red dust behind it. Jon smiled and shook his head. He always liked to make a show of things, his brother. He could hear the Half-Lives hissing and gargling above him.

 _“The North king rides!”_ One of them cried out, _"He brings the steel wolf with him! I can see it!”_

They let out a screech of frustration before their heavy footsteps padded back towards the caves. When Jon lifted his head to peek over the sand, he found he was alone. He stood up, wiped the sand of his clothes, and whistled loudly and sharply in triumph.  Another mission accomplished.

The sound of his whistling was soon drowned out by the sound of a loud, revving engine. Grey Wind pulled up next to him and showed just how messed up he looked through the reflection of her shiny steel body. The passenger window rolled down and Robb looked at him, smiling a smug smile.

“Any trouble, Snow?”

“Hardly,” He mused as he got in and shut the door. “They were quite civil this time. Gave me a head start before they started attacking.” He set the bag on his lap and opened it up, pulling out a decent-sized chunk of dragon glass and inspecting it with raised brows. He whistled softly. “Pretty good batch this time. I reckon we'll get bare Produce for this one.”

Robb gave him a firm nod. “Good. We'll get Theon and ride for Dorne tomorrow, the—”

Suddenly something smacked against the car with a sharp ping! and the two boys flinched. Jon looked to the left and over at the wall of sand and rock that skirted the horizon. Another sharp ping! Something skidded across the hood of the car. It sounded like hail at first, but the idea of little balls of ice falling in the Wastelands was impossible. If it wasn't a hail of ice, then it was most definitely a hail of metal. And metal rained down on them.

Bullets pattered at the car, causing sparks to fly up everywhere and nearly hit the boys inside. Jon leaned over with a loud swear and kept his head low as Robb hurried to start the car.

"Hold on!" He spoke, reaching forward to pull up the gas lever. He listened to the sharp hiss and pressed down on the gas pedal. The vehicle shot forward and Jon gripped the dashboard tight, the whole car violently bobbing up and down against the sandy hills and patches of rock.

 A large tanker suddenly appeared over the Sand dunes. It was a junker of a rig, covered from hood to tailpipe in large rusted spikes. Half-Life Warriors in their clunky battle outfits were hanging off the sides, banging their heavy steel pipes against the spikes. Sparks were flying up around them as they chanted an eery, paced chant into the air. It was the song of the Half-Life. The song of Hunger. The song of a promise. Their victims' meat and bones would fill their bellies tonight.

The uneven terrain clattered and beat against the chains wrapped around Grey Wind's tires, letting out the most irritating noise as bullets continued to smack against the car. Jon looked over and could see it on Robb's strict face. He was more annoyed than anything that they had the nerve to damage his rig. Their lives meant little in comparison to the condition Grey was in. She would hold out, though. Northern Rigs were a part of the Starks, and Starks always held out in a fight.  And hold out she did, even as the Land Traps were triggered, and sinkholes full of spikes began springing up everywhere. Robb jerked the car to the left, then to the right, just barely missing a spring trap that brought up a line of chain that would've had them on their heads within seconds.

“Fucking hell!” Robb bit out.

The Half-Life junker behind them was starting to catch up. All that time spent missing traps was giving them the Hunter's Advantage. The Warriors hanging off the sides howled and cried in manic joy at the sight of their prey's struggle. One of the Half-Lives carrying the dragonfire torch held it up in the air and blew fire high into the sky. Others continued to fire bullets and steel arrows with dragonglass heads, tossing whatever they could towards the Chrome-shelled beauty harboring their meal inside.  The back of the windshield suddenly shattered, and Jon nearly smacked his head on the dashboard as he ducked. He let out a loud swear and screwed his eyes shut, the sound of his racing heartbeat flooding his eardrums.

He couldn't hear bullets anymore.

He couldn't hear the song coming from Grey Wind's engine.

He couldn't hear Robb screaming at him. He could only hear his heart. His heart thundering loudly, like the steady, heavy footsteps of his father coming down the stone halls at Winterfell. The sound of his cape as it whipped against the harsh winds of Winter. The sound it made when he'd read the news of his Father's head being placed on a pike at the Red Keep.

"Jon!" Robb's hallowed voice called through the noise. "Jon! You need to fire back!"

Jon's dark eyes flicked to the left, over at Robb. Brave little Robb, with a face strict with honor and duty. He looked so grown up in this moment. This terrifying, life-threatening moment. Seeing it only sparked a fire in him, a need to make him proud, to keep him safe. They may not have had the same name, but blood said otherwise. They were brothers. And brothers did whatever they could to protect one another. And Jon Snow would protect Robb Stark with his life.

He reached down underneath his seat and felt around, finally gripping onto the handle of a 9mm Colt handgun. He pulled it out and quickly started inspecting it. Still clean, a loaded clip, plus one already in the chamber. He quickly rolled down the windows and looked over to Robb, giving him a firm nod. Robb nodded back and switched gears, putting his foot down on the accelerator soon after. The car jerked forward before speeding up, the wind whipping up sand and dust around them. The Half Lives in the large tanker trucks started speeding up as well, howling louder over the roar of their engines. One managed to catch up a great deal and pull up to their side, the Warriors hanging off began swinging their pipes and firing their bullets.

Robb slammed on the break and pulled back before swerving to the right to get behind the tanker. Jon slowly inched his way out the open window and pointed his gun at the half-life riding the top. He pulled the trigger and gripped the handle tight, feeling the gun push back as a bullet exploded out and smacked into the creature's shoulder.

One down.

He aimed at another hanging off the right side of the car—missing at first, but finally hitting him in the calf after two more shots.

Once the right side was clear, Robb reached under the dashboard and flicked on the sequence of switches that put his rig on autocruise. Once it was active, he reached further back and grabbed hold of his own gun. His father's gun. He rolled down the window and looked to the left, his bright blues staring out at the driver in the tanker next to him. And though the King in the North couldn't see it, he knew the driver was afraid. The driver had half a mind to stop and turn back. The look he was being given wasn't that of a fearful man, but of an angered animal. A wolf that had been cornered and didn't like it one bit. He watched as both men held out their guns and pointed them right at him, firing straight into the driver's side once and hitting him square in the head.

The two watched as the Half-Life's body fell forward and landed on the wheel. The whole rig let out a heavy wail as it skidded and swerved, finally stopping as it smacked into another Tanker, and exploded into a frenzy of fire and metal parts. The two remaining tankers skidded and smacked into the broken pile, bodies flinging in all different directions as fire and smoke erupted from the chaos. Robb placed his gun back into its rightful spot and took autocruise off, switching gears without a word to the man seated next to him. The two brothers sat there in silence as they barreled down the desolate road, occasionally looking back in their rear-view mirrors at the swell of black smoke rising into the sky.

Robb switched gears and put his foot down on the accelerator. The car jerking forward once more before speeding up.

“We need to get Theon,” He repeated after a few minutes of silence. Jon gave a simple nod of his head in response, his eyes still on the smoke cloud behind them.


	3. The Lower City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Slums of Winterfell has whatever you need.

The two brothers found their ward in Lower City. Its market square filled with steel plated stalls for merchants, its streets muddy and lined with rows of houses made from scavenged materials found around the North. The slums were no different than how everything was inside Winterfell—for the resources were divided as justly as Robb's late father (and previous Warden) could make it. 

Unfortunately for them, the resources divided—like water and guzzoline, were not in high supply.

As the two walked through the city, they were greeted with several humbled blessings. Some quietly mumbled for the old gods to watch over them, others asked for water, any amount to quench their thirst. Rob felt a sinking knot in his gut every time. If it were up to him, he’d give them as much water as the world offered and more.

They found Theon Greyjoy inside a brothel, on top of a beautiful prostitute named Ros. Her hair was as red as the mountains of clay in the Wastelands. Because of that, and her other skills involving her tongue and flexibility, she was the most prized whore among the Northmen. She was most favored among Theon, as well. And if Jon and Robb didn't know any better, they would've mistaken this favor for love.

“Evening Ros,” Robb said with a smile. The woman smiled back, standing up to her knees on the bed as Theon backed away, tucked his cock back in his trousers, and walked over to the abandoned rig chairs.

“Your Grace,” She chirped, looking over to Jon and giving him a small nod, “M'lord.”

Jon smiled sheepishly and nodded. Theon simply took a seat and lit himself a cigarette, admiring the taste of stale Pyke tobacco and fermented grain leaves. It brought a lazy grin to his face. It reminded him of home. 

“Gentlemen,” he quipped as his brothers took a seat, “What can I help you with?”

Robb leaned forward and stared at Theon intently. “It's time, Theon. It's time to ride south. To bring back Arya, and Sansa.”

The boy coughed lightly, briefly pulling the cigarette from his lips to cough a few more times before putting it back. The two boys watched him take a heavy hit, the end of it glowing a bright cherry red.

He pointed to the two of them as he sucked in a sharp breath. “If Joffrey finds either of you there," he exhaled sharply, "you realize it’s _your_ heads that’ll be joining your father’s–”

“We know what’ll happen,” Jon interrupted, blinking past the haze of smoke that kept getting blown in his direction. “We've been planning this for weeks. Father is gone, and the girls are there unprotected. We’re asking you if you’ll help us.” 

Theon took a heavy hit and let it out in a smoke-filled sigh, staining the air with the scent of old pyke leaves. He smiled lazily, putting the cigarette back to his lips, sucking down on the filter. 

“It’s suicide, going into the lion’s den,” He mused in a throaty voice. Smoke came crawling out from his nostrils as he breathed. Robb only glared at him. Giving him that same stone faced, intense stare that made his enemies yield and his allies shift uncomfortably. He was dead serious in this moment. Probably the most he’s ever been since word first reached him about his father being branded a traitor. Theon smiled a sly smile – one that showed the small space between his two front teeth. 

“I’m a ward to the Starks of Winterfell,” He said simply with a shrug. “I go where you need me, _Your Grace._ ”

Robb still kept a straight face. “I need you to ride with us to King’s Landing.” 

Theon agreed, throwing his hands up before getting up out of his seat. “Then King’s Landing I shall go.”

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small satchel of coin, tossing it over to Ros who caught it without batting an eye. The young ward zipped up his pants, grabbed his gear, and followed the two boys out into the slumworld. Theon walked with an air of confidence and mischief that neither Jon nor Robb could match. The rules of this world were not lost on him, he just didn’t care. This wasn’t his land. This wasn’t Pyke. This was Winterfell, the home of his family’s enemy. An enemy he grew to love and call family himself, nevertheless, but that didn’t stop him from surfing the sand dunes on sheets of metal, or swiping car parts and trinkets from the junkmerchants to build his own weapons. Others called it fooling around, he called it “productive chaos” something all Greyjoys enjoyed. 

He picked up a lead pipe off the ground and looked through to the other end, whistling casually as he followed the back of his brother’s head through the bustling crowd of scrap vendors and junk merchants. 

“So how we gonna do this then, aye?” There was a hint of snarkiness in his tone. “Are we to just roll up to the gate, demand they give us the girls?” 

“We’ll go in undercover,” Robb said, electing to ignore his tone, “Use the dark to our advantage, along with our friends in Fleabottom.”

Jon stopped in his tracks for a second before rushing to catch up “You don’t mean — Robb-”

“Yes, I do,” Robb said firmly, “We need supplies first...”

 

The three boys were split up to get supplies. Robb went to deal with the Junk Punks for steel, Theon was to barter with the Scrap Farmers for food and tools. Jon was left to wander the slums for a Junkie Pup dealer. If they wanted to enter the slums of Kings Landing with their lives intact, they would have to do it with high-grade treats at hand. Whispers throughout the town led him to an area called “The Den”, a place littered with bodies both living and dead. Some were too sick or too high out of their minds to move, others weren't high enough, and those who weren't high enough, were aggressive.

Through the strung-out groans and garbled language of the Junkies, he was led to a dealer who apparently had the best supply in Winterfell. He was responsible for the slew of addicts laid out around his metal hut, some living high, others living low in the afterlife.

A stick of a man came out of his sheet metal hut and Jon immediately sized him up. He was around Jon's age, tall too, with a narrow face and dark choppy hair. He wore an old knight's breastplate with pauldrons adorned in spikes, along with necklaces made of doll heads and small bones. This one called himself Pyp.

“Evenin',” He greeted, wiping the dirt and grime off his hands with a rag before tossing it aside. “What can I do ya for?”

Jon shifted uncomfortably for a second before straightening up. “I'd like to see your supply of Rhaenol.”

The man raised a brow, his eyes flicking up and down Jon's body. “Didn't peg ya for a Junkie Pup.”

“I'm not,” Jon asserted quickly, swallowing hard before collecting himself, “It's for...something.”

Both Pyp's eyebrows quirked up and an amused smile flashed across his face as he turned away. “Hold on a sec.”

That second turned into a couple minutes. He came back with a small tin box and opened it up. Inside were small rock-like cubes the color of red clay. They smelled sour, almost like a mix between vinegar, sea salt, and old sweat. The scent made Jon wrinkle his nose. That only made Pyp smile.

“They say that this was the stuff that made the Mad King go mad,” Pyp gave him a sly grin, “Huff it in piles, he would. Fried his own brain so much that he set the world on fire.”

Jon felt an uneasy feeling grow in his stomach. He didn't want to think about who or what killed the world. He didn't want to think about the way his father talked about the flames. How the world turned dark and sour. He swallowed hard, pushing back whatever sickly feelings he had in his stomach and looked back at Pyp.

“I'll take six boxes, uncut,” Jon said, watching as Pyp closed up the tin.

“Manners first,” he mused with a smirk, “Whatsit ya got for me?”

Jon pulled off his rucksack and opened it up, pulling out a water jug and three hand-sized wooden boxes.

“Full gallon of Aqua Cola, and three boxes of bullets, stainless.” He offered. Pyp nodded rapidly and grinned.

“Done deal, daddy-o,” He mused, giving Jon a firm handshake. He kept shaking it for longer than Jon would've liked. He looked over at Pyp with a confused frown and saw the Junkie Pup grin a bright grin.

“I know who you are now,” He chirped, “You're Ned Stark's bastard son. Snow.”

Jon could feel his insides twist and burn. He pulled his hand away, his dark eyes narrowing as Pyp continued to smile.

“He was pure chrome, he was,” He mused, “Real hi-octane. A true road warrior.”

Jon mumbled a small “Yeah,” as Pyp gave him a slight bow out of respect before leaving to get the boxes. He came back with six beat-up tin boxes reading RHAENOL in worn out paint. They made the exchange, and Jon couldn't hurry out of there fast enough, dodging junkies and dealers and beggars along the way.

* * *

The three of them rendezvoused at the Garrage to store away their supplies. The Garrage was placed right inside the keep, and it was home to all their rigs that were stashed and worked on tirelessly by the Revheads and the Motorbabies. They were artists and mechanics always caked in oil and grime and decorated with metal and ink from head to toe on their skin. One Motorbaby was particularly closest to the Stark family, and they took great joy in fixing the rigs. Her name was Osha. A foreign girl who had come here on a whim looking for work and her fair share of comfort. What she got was stained skin and greasy hair, and the blessing of having Theon Greyjoy always bashing her handiwork. But she also got the joy of taking care of the young Princes. Even if they weren't hers by blood, the widowed Catlyn Stark had little qualms about letting her help care for Bran and Rickon.

“You three took your time,” Osha quipped as she crawled out of an old rusted rig's body. She wiped her sweaty forehead and smiled as Theon strode up to her, his expression stern.

“Not sure I favor that tone, _woman,_ ” He said snidly, his eyes flickering over to her handiwork, “Nor the paint job you're doing on that rig over there.”

“Apologies, my Lords, your Grace,” She gave a small bow, her lips turning up into a smirk, “It's been a long day.”

She turned around and started writing down notes when Robb walked up beside her. He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Ignore him, Osha. How are the boys?”

“Imagine they'll be happier once they see you back,” She said with a smile as he hugged her close. Her smile soon fell though, once Grey Wind rolled back in through the Garrage Entrace. Her green eyes went wide and she pulled away from Robb's hug, running up to the rig like it was an injured lover who had been dragged back to safety after a battle. “Aye, me! What on earth did you do to her?!”

“Half-Lives thought they could turn Robb and I into their next meal,” Jon explained.

“I _just_ got her looking pretty!” She whined, running her hands over the all the dents and scratches. “You poor thing...”

“You'll get her feeling shiny again,” Robb chirped, giving her another friendly peck on the cheek. Jon followed soon after, then Theon with an added 'thank you'. Osha huffed in frustration.

“She's too good for you, you know!” She called back, her focus still on her handiwork that had just gotten shot to hell. “Your mother was looking for you, by the way!”

Robb stopped in his tracks for a second before turning to look back at her. She was still inspecting the car.

“I'd say she's properly hot-headed right now. I'd be careful if I was you,” She warned.

The three men looked at each other in slight concern before Jon suggested they head to the baths instead. The other two nodded and they started going the other direction.

“Oh, and Robb,”

The man stopped a second time, turning around to face Osha. She smiled lightly, her head tilting to the side.

“I won't say anythin' to anyone if you don't want me to,” She said, slinking alongside Grey Wind as she inspected the damage. “Just be sure to show those Lions what happens when they fuck with a pack of wolves.”

The three boys made their way through the Higher City to get back to Winterfell. And what a city it was. It rose up into the steam-filled air, at least five stories tall. Metal chutes and frames and ladders and hundreds of chimneys belching rich plumes of steam. Chrome and Iron and steel, as far as the eye could see.  
It was so alive. And it was all thanks to their grandfather, Brandon the Builder, who planted the seed.

When the three finally made it to the keep, they were met with a welcome that was anything but warm. A waif looking woman with auburn hair and a striking face stood in the middle of the great hall, her expression letting all three of them know that they were in for hell. Robb swallowed hard and stepped forward, mustering as much courage as he could as he walked up to her.

“Mum,” He began, pointing to either side of him. “We're real—”

He looked to his right, and then to his left. Upon entering the room, Jon and Theon had taken a sharp right and slunk off into the kitchens without making a sound. Cowards.

His mother raised an eyebrow at him.

“Do you mind telling me why I saw smoke rising up from the Wastes?” She asked, her tone neither chilling nor comforting like usual. If she were any other person, and they had a knife right now, he was sure they'd be dancing it in his face and along the skin of his neck. He would have to be careful with his lie, otherwise she'd drive the knife right in.

“The ... Half-Lives ... wanted a fire to honor their Gods?” He said slowly.

Her lips pursed thin, her eyebrow quirking upwards. “And ... Grey Wind just decided to join in?”

Robb let out a sigh. “Mum—”

“You are a King, Robb!” She said over him, making him go quiet at an instant. “The King in the North! Or did you forget that?!”

“I didn't forget, I—”

“You were merely just off seeking thrills with the Greyjoy and that—”

“My brother,” He interjected, knowing fully well what she was about to say, “And no, muther, I was not off _seeking thrills_ , I was out there collecting items for trade—”

“That is a job for the Scrap Farmers, not for a King!” She stressed out “Going out there is like asking for the Gods to take you right then and there! I—” Her lips pursed shut and she shut her eyes, taking a much-needed breath through her nostrils. Robb could see the tears slowly creeping through the corners of her eyes. His expression immediately softened, watching as she took a seat at the table and put her hands to her face. He walked over and took a seat next to her, taking hold of her hands and pulling them from her face.

“Muther,” He called softly, “I know I should be here, since father...” Both his heart and stomach sank for a second. He swallowed hard, sitting a little straighter, “I'm going to King's Landing,” He said firmly, “I'm going to the Red Keep, and I'm going to take the girls back.”

Catlyn looked to her firstborn with teary eyes, her lips trembling as her voice failed to speak up. She only nodded lightly, the tears spilling down her cheeks as her son kissed the knuckles of her hands and held them there.

“I promise I'll get them back, Muther,” He muttered, “And I will kill any Lion or Stag that stands in my way...”


End file.
